


Metamorphosis

by BelladonnaWyck, raiast



Series: Dionysus [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Murder, Timestamp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:02:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23421394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelladonnaWyck/pseuds/BelladonnaWyck, https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiast/pseuds/raiast
Summary: Three distinct words had floated through Will’s mind, echoing insistently, as he’d trekked through Hannibal’s posh Baltimore neighborhood. He’d been embarrassed at his feelings, his heart slamming in his chest to the same beat as his feet against the pavement. To the same rhythm of those loathsome words.Walk of shame.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Dionysus [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1621633
Comments: 20
Kudos: 167





	Metamorphosis

**Author's Note:**

> A timestamp set at the end of Folly of Youth, the time between Will leaving and Hannibal arriving to his house.

The new semester - his last semester, since he’d been in accelerated classes since the summer before his freshman year - was shaping up to be fucking terrible. It was only the first week, barely long enough for Will to _remember_ the names of his teachers, and already he _hated them._

Everything was exacerbated by the fact that his father had been in town for a week already with no end in sight for his presence. He’d arrived back to Baltimore in a blaze, angrier than Will had ever seen him. It had taken him some time to come across the charges, but when he had he’d flown back immediately, putting day to day business in the hands of his VP. 

Will’s father had always been one bad day away from physical violence, Will had known that his entire life, and apparently this had been the final straw to force him to blows. He’d beaten Will, his already bruised body now littered with ugly shades of blue and purple, yellow and green. Marks that weren’t Hannibal’s, didn’t _belong._

He traced the outline of a particularly vivid bruise along his ribcage as he stood staring in the mirror, remembering the sense of dread that had filled him when his father had finally finished hitting him, had delivered the final blow of forbidding Will to leave the house until classes started. Even now that school was back in session Will wasn’t allowed to leave campus except to come home for the weekends, not even permitted to stay in his dormitory so that his father could keep him under a watchful eye. 

Beau had threatened Will and, by extension, Hannibal. Told Will if he even so much as _breathed_ the other man’s name ever again, he’d have him arrested. Henry, his driver, had told Beau everything when he’d been questioned, even giving him the exact address where he’d picked Will up and dropped him off all summer. It had been stupid for him to use his dad’s driver to carry him to their trysts, but Will had been blind in his obsession. 

Not that it much mattered. Will hadn’t heard from Hannibal in the two days before his father had shown up and taken his phone and computer, was fairly certain at this point that he’d been right to be worried and that Hannibal was finished with him. 

Three distinct words had floated through Will’s mind, echoing insistently, as he’d trekked through Hannibal’s posh Baltimore neighborhood. He’d been embarrassed at his feelings, his heart slamming in his chest to the same beat as his feet against the pavement. To the same rhythm of those loathsome words. _Walk of shame._

Will had, for all intents and purposes, _freaked out,_ and Hannibal had still let him leave. That alone felt like pouring salt into an open, weeping wound. In his haste to depart, he’d forgotten to call his driver, forced to walk a mile in the searing, lingering heat of Maryland in the late Summer before he’d finally called Henry to pick him up at a nearby park.

He’d experienced what, quite possibly, what could have been the best thing that would ever happen to him. Had gotten what he’d been yearning after for _months_ , his Daddy finally claiming him in a way he’d yet to own him, filling him thick and deep, far more intense than anything else they’d experienced together. Will had even finally _kissed_ Hannibal. 

Will should - by all rights - feel as though he was finally whole. He should feel _happy_. Instead, he’d felt weak and broken; irreparably damaged and like he’d left something integral to his heart behind in Hannibal’s bathroom. 

He’d researched it when he’d gotten back to school, pulling up a private browser on one of the library computers since his father hadn’t even let him have his laptop back for classes. 

_Sub drop._ That’s what all of the websites he’d found had called it. He was experiencing a severe drop as various chemicals had flooded his body and then dissipated, as he’d let himself fall into an experience that he, perhaps, hadn’t been ready for. The sudden separation from Hannibal had only made matters worse, and now, two weeks later, Will couldn’t imagine calling him. 

Logically he knew that the other man was giving him space, probably thought it was what Will wanted. But Will was still screaming on the inside, desperately wanting to shake his Daddy until he realized he was _hurting_ Will rather than helping him by leaving him like this. 

Being around Beau certainly hadn’t helped anything. If he spoke to Will at all it was only to tell him what a disappointment he was, how terrible it was to have brought such a deviant into the world. A _deviant._ Like Will could help what kind of person he was attracted to.

Like anyone could stand a _chance_ trying not to fall in love with Hannibal Lecter.

Will was stuck at home for the weekend under his father’s orders, and had decided to take up residence in the study. It was the room that reminded him the most of being at Hannibal’s, though this one lacked a fireplace and bourbon expensive enough to buy a car. 

His Advanced Statistics textbook was spread open across his lower abdomen, for the most part ignored for the better part of the last half hour. Will could barely make it through a page at a time before his mind would drift to thoughts of Hannibal, to memories of their time together. Or to fears of his unknown future. He was curled into the corner of a massive sofa that dominated the corner of the room, chewing on his lips with low simmering anxiety. The deep brown leather shone from where it sat beneath a large window, the sun starting to sink behind the horizon, a few final remaining tendrils of light spilling out like blood soaking into the earth. 

The door to the study slammed open, ricocheting off the paneled wall behind it and startling Will from his daydreaming. 

“You’ll understand when _you_ have kids,” Beau announced, apropos of nothing. There was a half empty bottle of vodka sloshing in his hand as he stumbled into the study, already drunk and surly. Beau was a mean drunk, though amicable enough until riled. More often than not he just turned maudlin, waxing poetic about Will’s _good for nothing mother_ until he made himself weepy and everyone around him uncomfortable. Lately, though...lately Beau had developed a particularly mean streak.

Will shifted his textbook so that it lay sprawled on the couch beside him, watching as his father attempted to walk towards him. “I’m not so keen on the whole _breeding_ thing,” Will pointed out, frustration mounting higher and higher within him. “If you hadn’t noticed.”

Beau’s lax expression soured at that, never one to be reminded that his son wasn’t exactly what he expected him to be. “Yer a _child._ Ya got no idea what yer _keen_ on yet, Willy.”

Oh, Christ, the _Southern_ was coming out. That meant that Beau was long past the drink he should have stopped at. The bottle in his hand sloshed violently as he waved his arms around, titled at such an angle that it threatened to spill over the edge at any moment, even only half full. 

“Don’ gimme _wrong,_ Willy. It’s not the...not the _gay_ thing,” he insisted. 

“Thank goodness for _that,”_ Will muttered to himself bitterly. He wasn’t worried about the backlash at this point - Beau was beyond the moment of listening to anything other than his own drunk, self-righteous talk.

“But ya can’t - Christ, boy, ya can’t do _that._ It’s _sick._ He’s - he’s old enough ta be yer _daddy.”_

“He is,” Will spoke the words without thought, something twisting in his stomach when he found that he actually _believed_ them. 

He was overcome with a sense of certainty he hadn’t felt in _weeks._ Because even though they hadn’t had any contact, even though Will had experienced a sub drop disguised as a spectacular and complete emotional _breakdown,_ even though he’d run from him… Hannibal was still his Daddy. He was his Daddy until he told Will he didn’t want to be anymore; if he wanted away from his boy then Will would make sure he said the goddamn words out loud.

Will bolted up from the sofa, abandoning his book and striding past his father with urgency boiling in his stomach and bubbling up through his body. It was as though the skies had finally opened up, revelation after revelation striking through him with each step Will took toward his bedroom.

Because he didn’t _have_ to stay here. He didn’t _have_ to let his father abuse him, physically or otherwise. He could pack a bag and _leave,_ and even if Hannibal wouldn’t take him back - though Will’s confidence was growing in that respect as well - he would just go back to his dorm, or crash with a friend, or get on a train.

He didn’t realize Beau had even followed him upstairs until he had finished stuffing a duffel bag with his clothes and turned to see the man’s form filling his doorway.

“Where the _fuck_ do you think yer goin’?!”

Will flashed his father a feral smile. “Where the _fuck_ do you think? I’m going to see my _Daddy_ .” He advanced toward the door with sure steps, unconcerned by the potential roadblock. “And you can _try_ to stop me, but I don’t advise it. And if you so much as _think_ about calling the cops, we’ll make sure you’ll wish you hadn’t.” Hannibal was the _Ripper_ for goodness sake. Will couldn’t imagine why he’d been so afraid of his father’s threats. 

“Snotty fuckin’ _brat,”_ Beau hissed, pulling his hand back and letting it fly across Will’s face.

Will didn’t even attempt to dodge the blow, merely grit his teeth, held his breath and took it in stride. His cheek and eye _throbbed_ where Beau’s knuckles made contact, but Will was in motion before the white sparks had even left his vision. He kicked his foot forward viciously, making solid contact with his father’s bad knee and sending the man crashing to the ground.

He jumped over Beau’s crumpled form, darting past his reaching hand and down the wide hallway. He hiked his duffle higher up on his back as he approached the upper landing for the stairs, his chest heaving. He splayed his hand out on the marbled wall, taking several deep, calming breaths as adrenaline coursed through his body, priming him for fight or flight. 

Just as he moved to step onto the top stairs, Beau charged him like a bull, his breath warm against Will’s nape as he gasped for air behind him, grabbing onto his duffel and pulling him back off the step. 

Beau hit Will again, another backhanded blow that forced Will’s head sharply to the side, this time with blood spilling from his split open lip and down his chin. More blood pooled in his mouth, his teeth grinding into the soft flesh of his inner cheek hard enough to rend flesh. 

“Dad, stop!” Will gasped, his teeth stained crimson. His pleas fell on deaf ears, Beau a creature purely of rage, now. He hit Will, again and again, the band of his wedding ring that he’d never removed after all these years catching on Will’s cheekbone, a jagged cut left behind that would also most likely be accompanied by a vivid bruise. More marks on his body that didn’t belong. More marks that weren’t Hannibal’s. 

“Fuckin’ good fer nothin’, rotten little _boy._ You ain’t never been worth nothin’ and you ain’t never _gonna_ be worth nothin’.” Beau emphasized each harsh reminder with another hit to Will’s face or punch to his gut. Will bent forward to protect himself and that only seemed to anger his father even more. 

The man reached for him, tried to slam him against the wall of the landing, but he slipped on the tile. He latched on to Will’s shirt and tried to right himself by leaning into Will, but Will pivoted so that Beau stood on the edge of the stairs, teetering dangerously on drunk feet. 

Will could see him ramping up to spew some more vitriol, but instead of passively standing and waiting to hear it, Will reached out and _pushed._ Beau’s arms shot out to try and steady his feet beneath him, but Will sidestepped him this time, pushing him again. 

That time, Beau couldn’t regain his footing, his center of gravity too unstable and his body soaked in booze. He toppled backward, crashing down the stairs with enough fanfare to wake the neighbors - if they’d _had_ any. His body tumbled down like a ragdoll and Will could only stand at the top of the stairs, heart slamming in his chest and breath halted, as he watched his father’s body twist and bend at all the wrong angles over and over, as if it were taking minutes rather than seconds, until finally his still, broken and bloodied form was sprawled across the marble floor at the bottom of the stairs.

For a blessed several seconds, Will stared down at the scene before him as though he were an empty vessel; no thoughts, no feelings, just a body experiencing a jarring and inescapable _shift_ in the universe. And then reality came crashing down on him like gravity.

Oh. Oh, fucking _fuck._

_Finally._

Christ, what the _fuck_ was he supposed to do _now?_

His hands shook, not from fear or regret, but from the adrenaline spike and subsequent crash, as he made his way to the master bedroom and opened his father’s safe. 

He took out his phone, leaving the laptop for now, and slid his trembling finger across the screen to unlock it, calling by memory the only number he’d ever bothered to remember, the only number that mattered. The tears came as he hit the call button, wet, wracking sobs pulled from his chest as he put the phone to his ear.

He focused on trying to breath as the line started to ring. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> If you enjoy our collaborative works you should follow us on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/BellaRaiWrites) and [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/bellaraiwrites) for all sorts of extra content and teasers!
> 
> We also have a [Discord server](https://discord.gg/jhdDeAn) where you can chat with us, throw us prompts, and post images/art inspired by our work! You may also catch a snippet or two of some WIPs!
> 
> 'Til next time! 💚💜 BellaRai


End file.
